


Never To Recover

by Lemon_Tea



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: Bad Ending, Corruption, Dom/sub, Dominance, F/F, Sexual Dominance, Sexual Manipulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 12:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_Tea/pseuds/Lemon_Tea
Summary: It was supposed to be a quick affair for Professor Ursula, now that Akko knows everything about her: get rid of Croix, rebuild everything. Oh how quickly the tables are turned, and with such far-reaching consequences.____Takes place after Ep. 22, so pay attention to spoilers. Rating subjected to change. Relationship tags subjected to expansion as they are explored in future chapters (planned: Diana/Akko, Croix/Akko, Chariot/Akko).Word of warning: darker fic than usual from yours truly.





	Never To Recover

 

 

**Never To Recover**

 

_"Unravel me."_

Chariot duNord, more than once.

 

 

Those days after Croix revealed her deepest secret, in front of Akko of all people, were the hardest for Professor Ursula, no… Chariot duNord, she might as well use her real name now, since the time she left her stage career and name behind. It was all Croix’s fault. It was all her fault, and the thought of that smug grin, those green eyes smiling at her from the lofty heights of her self-righteousness robbed Chariot of her sleep, and slowly of her sanity, like the drop that carves the rock.

This might also be the reason why she made that mistake: she wasn’t in her right mind, and her attempts to contact Akko or even, heavens forbid, to approach her, having been rebuked, had taken their toll on her. There might have been other reasons, ones she didn’t really wanted to think about.

All in all, one fateful early morning, almost one week after she went to rescue Akko on the rooftop, Chariot found herself, panting more from rage and anxiety than exhaustion, on the doorstep of Croix’s quarters. This time she didn’t have to fight her way through animated constructs and other kind of guardians, which was a good and abysmal news at the same time. It meant Croix was ready for her. It meant she had already predicted her move. Chariot couldn’t stop a grin from splitting her face: always so smart, and not at all subtle.

Well, no reason to play by her rules, though.

Chariot pointed her wand against the heavy doors. A pinprick of green light came into existence, growing quickly into a fist-sized ball, and then…

With a flash and a rumbling sound, the heavy doors of Croix’s quarters were blasted apart with seemingly the same effort of a biscuit broken in two. The damn pollen might have taken her flying, but her magic had never been stronger. Yes, Chariot thought as she took a step inside, she was now here to do what she should have done all those years ago. With a twirl of her wand, the blasted dusts and debris from the remains of the door coiled around her like a shield, covering her; Chariot stepped inside the room, even more full of machinery than she remembered from last time she had been here. But apart from the bubbling of tubes and the buzzing of cables and monitors, the room was empty and silent.

Not that she’d expected it would be so easy, though what future had in store for Chariot duNord would have surprised even her admittedly imaginative mind.

“Croix,” she called, “come forth!” Gone were her soft Ursula voice and restricted movements. Her hair pulsed from blue back to fiery red, and Chariot took off her glasses, showing her eyes full of determination. Croix might have been better prepared, but she was in her lair now, and for all her genius, she had never been able to truly beat her in a full-on duel.

Therefore it turned out to be the more a surprise when Croix stepped out from the shadows, wearing only her night-robe, a from-fitting, white night-robe, which hugged quite charmingly her hips an-

She had to stay focused. Chariot pointed her wand at Croix and opened her mouth.

Croix was quicker.

“My, my. A knock might have been nice.”

“Croix! It’s time you and I settle this once and for all!”

Chariot was one to get lost in babbling, but this time she wouldn’t allow Croix to get the upper hand. Already another ball of green light was forming at the tip of her wand. It wasn’t honourable to blast a disarmed woman, even less one who couldn’t defend herself like Croix, but it was her fault: her actions had robbed her of her last attempt at redemption, her last attempt at saving magic, and most important of them all, her last attempt at telling Akko the truth.

The ball grew to the size of an apple, then a melon; its light shone on the mirrored surfaces of Croix’s room, reflected and dispersed like Chariot was waving one of her magical fireworks.

And then Croix took a step in front of her. A single step, quite calm and controlled.

In front of her magical ball of cleansing fire, about to explode.

Chariot couldn’t process this.

“S-stay back!”

Croix, true to form, ignored her, and took another step. The way her hips moved…

“I said stay back!”

It didn’t make sense. Here she had Croix at her mercy. Without her cubes, robbed of magic long since, Croix had no way to… no way to defeat her or even stand in her way.

Then why was it that as Croix took her third step, it was her, Chariot, who felt her back hit the wall?

“Always the same,” Croix commented as she walked towards her. She was at three paces from the wobbling ball of magical fire.

Now or never.

“So full of spirit, so full of grandeur.”

Two steps.

“Flashy. And yet…”

One step.

Croix lifted her right arm and put the hand in front of the ball. With a sizzle, it withered away like a dead shooting star. Chariot wailed. Croix took the tip of Chariot’s wand between her fingers. Chariot presented no resistance when Croix moved her wrists, and took the wand in her own hands.

“… so devoid of substance,” she concluded, making the wand fall to the floor with a single loud toll.

Chariot felt her arms heavy, and her chest beating. Breath clawing at her throat, she couldn’t escape as Croix inched ever closer, her figure, her face, her eyes growing, impossibly growing, two emerald moons, unscarred, to fill up the entire sky. Her breath smelled of mint and her hair of molten metal and rust. Her skin, when Croix passed a searing thumb against Chariot’s cheek, smelled of tangy sweat and long-forgotten promises.

“You were right about one thing, though,” Croix said as her other hand settled on Chariot’s shoulder, massaging the skin and muscle beneath. Some part Chariot wanted to suppress, to renounce, had wished for the same touch for years. She had believed she had grown out of her school uniform: she believed she wasn’t the same girl who was ensnared by those very same green eyes, taken in a trap of sweet words and sweeter moans.

Oh, how curious she was of what Croix’s next words would be! Ten years, and not a thing had changed.

She didn’t explain though. She wanted _her_ to ask, of course. It had always been the same power play between them.

She wasn’t supposed to give in. To give in to the pressure against her temples, squeezing her thoughts into small purple impulses of flesh and saliva, and memories of a time when letting go to Croix’ spell had been easier.

She wasn’t…

She… no… she wasn’t…

“W-what?” Chariot asked, biting her lips a moment later, like she could catch the words by their tail.

“It is time to resolve our differences, Chariot, my dear.”

Oh, oh her name, spilled from those lips, how long had she wanted to… no… she needed her wand, she needed to get out of here, protect Akko, but those green eyes said _no_ , and she couldn’t… she couldn’t… not with the pressure of Croix’s thumb against her cheek, trailing fire from there down, down, like a guilty teardrop, charred and full of sin, down her cheek and against her upper lip, as Croix parted them and caressed them with the tip of her finger. She had cut her nails since school days.

 _Shame_ , a part of Chariot though.

Chariot sobbed when she felt her lips, with a will of their own, close against that detectable finger.

“And I want you to,” Croix said again, inching closer. Ever closer. So close that in a few moments her chests would touch. Like they hadn’t done in ten years. Chariot tried to get back, but the wall wouldn’t let her. “I want you to say it.”

“N-no.”

“That’s not the answer I expected,” Croix said as she moved her face, and Chariot was freed from those eyes she could gather her strength she could fight she could save every… one…

But then Croix’ breath was against her ear and it was so warm and so damp and it was full of all the things Chariot had guilty thought about while she brought herself to orgasm, biting down into her pillow.

Two words.

“Say it.”

“N-nooo…”

Croix’s hand, moving from her shoulder to brush against her chest.

“Say it.”

And Chariot’s lips moved without thinking. They already knew the words; had repeated them for ten year to empty air, and Chariot always told herself that it was for old times’ sake, that she would never say those words for real again.

Of all the lies she covered her trail these years, the worse of them were probably those told to herself.

“Unravel me.”

But Chariot didn’t wait for Croix to respond: she pushed against the tide, against ten years of negating herself true pleasure and her true place, and she moved her lips past Croix’s fingers and against Croix’s own, in a dance that had been repeated too many times to be forgotten.

Why was it so warm and damp? Part of that was the lips, but part of it was tears coming out of her shut eyes. Tears for Akko. She couldn’t protect her, and now here she was, surrendering to her enemy. How worthless she was. Tears for herself. She was so weak. Not in her magic, but in her heart. She had always needed Croix to push her forward, just as she was now being pushed back against her wall, and all her sensations, in her neck, in her nipples, in her quivering core, bloomed like flowers in the desert, gathering for rain after ten years of drought.

But most of all she cried for Croix.

And Croix didn’t wait: she pushed her with more strength against the wall, and whispered words into Chariot’s ear which made her shiver with pleasure and terror, and she couldn’t distinguish them, maybe because by then, they were one and the same.

“Of course my dear." Was Croix' smile widening? "But this time, beyond recovery.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Seems like Studio Trigger is pushing me back to write once again.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this first delving into Croix's devious plan. Next time we see how she practices what she preaches and 'takes action'. Mostly on dear Chariot, at first...


End file.
